Calling the Doctor
by Shivver
Summary: Resolving to lock Gallifrey in a single instant of time, the three Doctors must enlist the help of their previous incarnations.
1. First Call

Strolling down Totter's Lane, the old man in the Edwardian frock coat and Karakul hat paid no attention to the people going about their business on the bright London day. He was too preoccupied with his unfruitful search for an elomistenical fuse that had taken the better part of the morning. Not that he had expected to find such a thing on this backwards planet, but he had hoped to find perhaps a junked television that he could scavenge parts from to build his own fuse. Unfortunately, the technology of 1963 was not advanced enough, and would not be so for another twenty years at least. He'd have to figure out another possible source.

As he neared the junkyard, a trio of men standing at the left side of the entrance caught his attention. They were deep in conversation and had not noticed him yet. He was not keen about entering the junkyard, and then the police box inside the junkyard, with them standing there, as he didn't want them watching him. This group of men were rather odd, standing out a bit from the rest of the London rabble. For one thing, they were all dressed very strangely, wearing neither the roomy solid suit of the businessman, nor the clean casual jacket and shaggy hair of the youngster. The tallest of the bunch wore a long brown overcoat over a form-fitting pin-stripe suit and… white sandshoes? His hands were jammed in his trouser pockets and his short hair stuck up, looking like he'd just gotten out of bed. The youngest one wore a purple frock coat similar to his own, strangely highwater pants, and heavy boots. His hair was also short except for a lock that hung into his eyes. The oldest one - older than he himself appeared - wore a worn leather jacket over a waistcoat, with a red scarf and a bandolier. He'd never seen such an odd collection of costumes. Well, not here on Earth, anyway.

The three men were discussing something that seemed of great importance. He wasn't close enough to hear the conversation except for the loud exclamations of the youngest one, who moved around while he talked and emphasized everything he said with wide hand motions. They didn't seem likely to move away on their own, so he decided he would have to ask them to move on. He walked a little closer.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded from about fifteen feet away.

All three men immediately fell silent and turned to the intruder. They seemed reluctant to speak, until Sandshoes nudged the oldest one with his elbow.

"Oh, for gods' sake! I'd think after all this, you boys would be man enough to speak on your own!" He spoke with a slow, raspy voice and a pleasant, educated accent.

"That's what we have you for, Granddad." The youngest one spoke with rushed words, gesturing with his palms up.

"I'm not 'Granddad.'"

The tall one buried his hands deep in his trouser pockets. "See, Chinny, I told you we should have drawn straws," he said, his London accent clipped and short.

Chinny waved the suggestion away. "Too easy to cheat."

"Right! I would have cheated it to him!" He jerked his thumb at Granddad.

"Oh, will you two shut up?" Granddad rolled his eyes.

Their observer drew himself up, hands on his lapels. "I asked you, what are you doing here? Hmm?"

Granddad stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back. "We're here looking for you, Doctor."

The Doctor rocked back on his heels. "For me? What could you possibly want with me?"

"Your help, of course."

The Doctor shook his head. "You must be thinking of someone else. I'm afraid whatever you're here for, it's none of my business. Off you go."

Sandshoes stepped out from behind Granddad and circled around the Doctor until he was at the right side of the entrance. Placing his hand on the fence post, he peered into the junkyard. "Oh, no, we're at the right place, and you're the right person. It's been such a long time."

Chinny walked directly into the junkyard a few feet. "I always meant to come back. Tried to come back, a couple of times. Always had something else to do first. You'd think I of all people could find the time. Looks just the same, doesn't it?" He spun on his heel to face the Doctor again.

The tall one rocked his head to the side to tap it against the gate post, exasperated. "Of course it looks the same. It _is_ the same."

The Doctor regarded the tall one, raising his chin. "If you're so certain that you're here for me, it is only fitting that you tell me who you are."

All three men responded at the same time, "I'm the Doctor."

Astonished, the Doctor looked around at all three of them. "You're all me?"

Again, all at the same time. "Yes."

He turned to Granddad. "How many regenerations now?"

The Doctor with the bow tie responded, "Twelve!" Turning his head, the Doctor regarded him with surprise, clearly not expecting the answer to come from him.

"Twelve?" The Doctor in the pinstripes frowned.

"You hogged two!"

Sandshoes scrubbed a hand down around his jaw. "I suppose I did. Forgot about that."

"So you're the last one then." The Doctor looked at Chinny dubiously.

"Surprised me, too," commented Granddad.

"There must be some great emergency for the High Council to allow all four of us together like this."

"Big emergency, yes. High Council, no. We're here on our own." Chinny punctuated each of his statements by pointing with alternate hands. He continued gesturing as he spoke, demonstrating the shape and size of his words. "Big Time War. Daleks attacking Gallifrey. Winning, too. But we're going to stop it." His wide gesture implied not only the four Doctors standing here, but all of them.

"We are?" The Doctor held his head high. "If indeed Gallifrey is falling to the Daleks, I fail to see how even thirteen of us..."

"Twelve," Chinny interrupted, casting an accusatory glance at the tall Doctor.

"Oi! He was better off in Pete's World!" protested Sandshoes.

The Doctor's voice cut across them. "However many of us there are, what are we to do about it?"

Granddad jerked a thumb at the young-looking Doctor. "He came up with a brilliant plan, to lock Gallifrey, the entire planet, in an instant of time, like a stasis cube. When the planet disappears, the Daleks will destroy themselves in the crossfire, and the universe will be safe."

Sandshoes leaned in close to the Doctor, his coat flaring behind him. "It's risky, but it's the only hope we've got. What we need to do it is hundreds of years to do the calculations, and as many TARDISes as we can get to enact the stasis."

The Doctor put a finger to his chin. "The calculations! The ones I started when I first borrowed the old girl. The ones I saw..." Comprehension dawning on his face, he turned to Granddad. "When I saw you, all those years ago." The man in leather nodded. "So this is what that was all about."

Chinny beamed, his arms raised in celebration. "Got it right away! See, I was such a clever young man!"

"And now it is time to see the results. Come now. Show me where I need to go." The Doctor turned and strode into the junkyard.

Sandshoes ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, well, that's not such a good idea." The Doctor paused and turned back to the three men. "The last time the three of us entered my TARDIS, the desktop started glitching. Can't be a good idea for four of us to be there, is it?" Glaring at the bow tie Doctor, he sniffed, wrinkling his nose for a moment. "I switched the desktop back, but I keep finding your user prefs hidden all over the interface."

"Oh! Well! If you'd keep up with the times, you'd see the way I have it set up is far better," Chinny replied, pointing alternately at Sandshoes and himself.

Granddad rolled his eyes and sighed. "Here, Doctor. These are the coordinates you need." He handed the Doctor a small translucent cube. "We will see you at Gallifrey."

The Doctor nodded. "Certainly. I shall go there directly." He disappeared into the TARDIS, and a minute later, the police box began to emit a cyclic groaning noise and dematerialized.

"That went better than I expected." Granddad gazed fondly into the junkyard for a few more moments. "I suppose we should get on with calling all the others. Split up, then?"

Sandshoes spoke up quickly. "Right. If you don't mind, I'd like to see my crickety self again…"

"Again?"

The Doctor in the pinstripes rubbed the back of his neck, a guilty look on his face. "Yeah, well, we had a temporal collision. My fault, really. Managed to not destroy the entire universe. But! I think it'd be best if I tackled my immediate predecessor. He'll be… tricky." The three Doctors bent their heads to assign themselves their selves, which took longer than they expected as they negotiated and traded tasks with each other. In the end, two out of three of them were satisfied with the results.

"Oh! Oh! I end up with him!" Chinny pouted, shoulders hunched forward and chin thrust out even further than normal. "While you two get all the easy ones! Not fair!"

Sandshoes threw up his hands in frustration. "It's completely fair. We drew straws!"

The bow tie Doctor pointed an accusatory finger at the tall one. "You cheated!"

"_I_ cheated? _He_ held the straws!" He jerked a thumb at Granddad.

Chinny turned to his youngest self. "Trade with me. Take him, and I'll take anyone else."

"You've only got two, while we each have three," Granddad pointed out. "Man up and just do it."

Sandshoes jammed his hands in his pockets and circled around to the side of his future incarnation, thrusting his chin out to murmur in his ear. "You'd better get to it. No time like the present." With a wide grin, he pulled back and spun on his heel to stand at Grandad's side.

Chinny stood sulking, shoulders rounded and arms hanging limply at his side. With heavy steps, he dragged himself to his TARDIS.

The tall Doctor sniffed, his nose wrinkling for a moment. "We'd best be off, too."

"Quite right." The oldest-looking Doctor took a few steps, then half-turned back. "You know, I do know how to cheat at straws." He caught Sandshoes' gaze for a moment, then resumed the stroll to his TARDIS.

A hint of a smile dancing in his eyes, the tall Doctor pulled his TARDIS key out of his pocket and strode off, down Totter's Lane.


	2. The Angler in Motley

With a fishing pole clutched in one hand and a small tackle box dangling from the other, the Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS, letting the door close and latch behind him. Transferring the box to the hand with the pole, he grabbed the umbrella and folding chair leaning against the side of the police box and began strolling down the rocky path leading to the lake. A sunny, relaxing day at the water's edge, followed by a sumptuous fish dinner, was just what the Doctor ordered.

As he stepped out of the copse of trees that lined the banks of the lake and arrived at his chosen spot, it did not please him to see another figure, not thirty feet down the shoreline. Dressed in a purple coat and a dark bow tie, he was dashing back and forth, picking up rocks, examining them, and skimming them into the lake, all the while excitedly talking to no one in particular.

"Thing is, it's not just the flatness of the stone - like this very one - that makes it ideal for skimming. You need the right angle. Oh, this one's perfect! And a strong arm. Can't forget the arm strength. I don't have much arm strength. This stone's rubbish. And you have to spin the stone while you throw. I could build a skimming machine. I would call it my stone skimmer. It would skim the stone at just the right angle. And spin it. Skimmer and spinner. Spin it and skim it."

Grimacing in disgust, the Doctor was about to turn and walk down the shore to find a more peaceful spot when one of the man's gyrations faced him directly at the arriving fisherman. Pointing with a hand still holding a flat rock, the man called out, "Ah, yes, you're here! I arrived a bit too early. Forgot exactly when I landed. Right hour, wrong day. Took three tries to get the right one."

The Doctor dropped the chair, box, and umbrella, but continued to hold the fishing pole in his left hand. "You are looking for me? Who are you, and what do you want?" he asked as the man approached.

He seemed not to have heard the questions. Putting on a pair of round-rimmed glasses, he hunched forward, peering at the Doctor's clothing. "Just as I remembered! The colors are far brighter in the sunlight. Actually, it's the light that is brighter. The colors themselves don't change." He straightened, his arms wide. "Dazzling!"

Interpreting the statement as sarcasm, the Doctor drew himself up, used to the criticisms leveled at his manner of dressing. "You cretins have no appreciation for the sartorial arts. My taste is impeccable, and this coat in particular has won awards."

The man circled around the Doctor, viewing his outfit from all angles. "Exactly! That's just what I say! Well, it's just what you said, but I completely agree. Now, I wouldn't wear it, but I still keep it around."

The Doctor's eyebrow arched. "Just who are you? Your manner of speaking is singular, but your circumlocutions sound just like mine."

The man's face lit up and he waggled a finger at the Doctor's chest.. "Exactly! I knew you'd know me right off." He tore off his glasses and dropped them in a pocket.

With his free hand, the Doctor grasped his coat by the lapel and thrust his chin out in pride. "You claim to be a future me? You will excuse me if I require some proof."

"Oh! Oh! Right!" Tossing the skimming rock aside, the supposed future Doctor reached in a pocket and pulled something out. Holding his hand out in front of the Doctor, he opened it to reveal a handful of cat pins, one of which matched the one on the Doctor's lapel. "You see, I still have them all."

The Doctor gazed down his nose at them. "Humpf. I suppose those are proof enough, or you are a very thorough thief. So, you are my future, though your appearance is that of a very young man." Like his fellow self, he started circling the young-looking Doctor to check him up and down from all sides. "Please tell me that you are not my next-in-line. I should be disappointed to think that I will degenerate so much in one change."

The Doctor in the purple coat drew back with a wounded expression. "Oi! I knew you'd be like this! Never change, do you?"

"I certainly hope I do not, if this is the result!"

"Doctor!" a female voice called.

Both men turned and spoke at the same time. "Yes, Peri?" "Ah, Peri! So good to see you!"

The girl who had just arrived, carrying a large container and wearing a multi-colored blouse and shorts, stopped in her tracks, confusion plain on her face. She stared first at the man she didn't know, then turned to the Doctor holding the fishing pole and asked, "Is everything all right, Doctor?"

"Everything is perfectly satisfactory, Peri. Go along and get to your sunbathing. Down over there looks like a fine spot. Leave the supplies high on the beach." He gestured quite a ways down the shoreline.

"Uh, okay, Doctor." The Doctor seemed to be trying to hide something, and suspicious that things weren't "perfectly satisfactory," she gave them both a wide berth as she headed to the indicated spot, continuing to stare at the unknown man until she passed them.

"What'd you do that for? I'd like to have said hi," the young-looking Doctor asked, waving his hands in frustration.

"Can't let her see me like you. She's already seen who I used to be. It is mortifying." The Doctor in the gaudy coat pursed his lips in contempt.

"This! This is why I didn't want to come here!" Turning on the spot, the bow tie man raised his eyes to the sky, holding his hands palm up at shoulder height as if in supplication. "I _know_ you cheated, matchstick man! Don't know how you did it, but I know!" He spun on his heel and stepped up to his former self. "You're even worse than I remember. Oo, you think you're so good. Pompous, arrogant, and so full of yourself." He poked him in the chest with each adjective.

The Doctor was unperturbed. "_Where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will always be under good regulation_," he quoted. "You appear to be nothing but a garrulous scamp. No grace, no style, no maturity. I had always thought my immediate predecessor was the furthest I could fall, but apparently I was incorrect."

The younger-looking Doctor clapped his hands to the top of his head. "I would never have come here if we didn't need your help."

The Doctor smiled triumphantly. "And now, out it comes. Of course you must require me for something, risking paradox to come here. What have you gotten me into, boy?"

He stepped closer to his former self and stared directly into his eyes. "Not me. The Time War. Your future, my past. Daleks attacking Gallifrey and the planet's going to fall. We have a plan to lock it in an instant of time, but we need as many TARDISes as we can get to to do it."

The Doctor stared back at his future self while he processed the information, his expression dark and serious. After a quarter of a minute, he stated, "I surmise that you've already started the calculations. Quite a long time ago."

"_We_ did, yes."

"Excellent. Then there is nothing left to discuss. I shall do my part. This endeavour certainly shall not succeed without my assistance." As the Doctor turned towards his equipment, the man in tweed rolled his eyes.

The Doctor bent to pick up the chair, umbrella, and tackle box, then strode towards Peri. "Peri, I have some business to attend to with my associate, and I'll be taking the TARDIS." The girl, who had disrobed and was lying on her towel in a bathing suit, opened her eyes and raised herself on her elbow to gaze at the Doctor. "I shall leave my equipment here. Go ahead and enjoy your relaxation. Stay out of the water, though. We both know how that will turn out."

She furrowed her brow and sat up. "Where are you going? Can't I come with you?"

He piled his things nearby. "Not this time, Peri. It is a small task. No point in postponing your sunbathing. I shan't be long, and I shall pick up my fishing then."

"Oh, ok, Doctor. I'll be here." She turned to the Doctor's friend. "Watch out for him. He's a troublemaker." She smiled, then laid back down and closed her eyes.

"Oh, don't I know it? Always has been," the bow tie Doctor quipped. He grinned at the curly-haired Doctor, who, nose in the air, turned to walk towards his TARDIS. The other Doctor fell in with his step and held out a small translucent cube. "Here's the coordinates. You won't catch a single thing here, you know."

"What happened to the prohibition against giving your past self foreknowledge? Oh, I'm sure there's some nonsense going on about crossed timelines and not being able to remember, isn't there?" Smirking, he took the cube. "I will see you there." He disappeared among the trees.

As soon as he was out of sight, the young-looking Doctor jumped and punched the air, then strode off. "Glad to be done with that. Easy! I told them it would be simple. I have great diplomatic skills. Natural diplomat, that's me!" He continued convincing himself of his triumph all the way back to his TARDIS.


	3. A Tempting Proposal

Apparently, every public place in the universe offered cheap, battered fried food, and this marketplace, supposedly one of the largest and most popular in the galaxy, was no exception. Turlough wasn't quite sure what exactly was in the center of the blob he was holding with three fingers - definitely some kind of white meat, though it also had tentacles sticking out - but it was delicious, and he stuffed it in his mouth without much decorum. Standing by his side, Tegan watched him with curiosity.

"So, you like it?" She was squinting with disbelief at his taste in food.

"I haven't had anything like it in a long time. It's like something from home. Not quite, but close enough." He held up the plate. "Try it."

Tegan shuddered. "No, thanks. I don't like food that can grab onto my tongue." She looked around at the myriad of booths and stalls surrounding them. "They say you can get anything in this bazaar. I'm hoping for fish and chips."

"Best fish and chips are in Brighton," Turlough choked out through a mouthful of wriggle. "You'd think with the TARDIS, we could pop there any time we wanted."

"If we ever were given a choice." She rolled her eyes. "But no, the Doctor goes where he wants, and we're stuck millions of miles from a good beach, eating deep-fried alien."

Turlough eyed her sideways. "Present company excepted, I hope."

Tegan laughed. "I always forget that, that you're not human. Not like the Doctor - he's always alien. But you're so ordinary."

"Thanks a lot."

His sarcastic tone didn't faze her. "That was a compliment. I always wonder why that is."

Turlough was confused. "Why what is?"

"Why there are so many species that look human."

"The Doctor would say we look Time Lord," he pointed out between mouthfuls.

"Whatever. But look around." She gestured at the crowds of creatures in the bazaar. "All kinds of aliens, all colors, with three eyes, or extra legs, or no visible head, or whatever, and yet so many of them look like us, and they're probably all from different planets. Why is that?"

"It's called convergent evolution. Different species tend towards one specific form, due to similar environmental conditions."

"Speak English."

Always contemptuous of Tegan's ignorance, Turlough pursed his lips before speaking. "If the planets two species come from are like each other, their animals tend to evolve to be like each other." Tegan raised an eyebrow. "Yes, it takes a lot of coincidence, but obviously it happens. A lot."

"Wouldn't the odds be astronomical?"

"'That means 'really good odds.' The word you want is 'infinitesimal.' And it doesn't mean it can't happen, or that it can't happen a lot."

"I'll never understand this stuff." She absent-mindedly plucked the last blob from Turlough's plate and stuffed it in her mouth. It was actually very tasty, enough that she could ignore the tentacles. As she chewed, she surveyed the crowd, then tugged on Turlough's sleeve.

"Hey, look at that guy." She pointed at a tall human-looking man making his way through the throng of people.

Turlough tossed the plate into a nearby bin, then turned and looked him up and down. "What about him?"

Tegan exhaled heavily and cocked her hands on her hips. Her friend always missed the obvious. "He's in a suit and tie. Think he's from Earth?"

Turlough glanced around. All of the other human-looking people in the crowd were wearing various types of clothing: spacesuits, robes, jumpsuits were all common. Tegan was right. The man's suit, similar to what Turlough himself was wearing, would hint at an Earth origin. "Possibly. I don't know any other civilization that came up with hanging a piece of flapping cloth from your neck."

"He's kinda cute," she murmured.

"What?"

"Actually, he's gorgeous. Well, maybe if he combed his hair." She appraised the man again. His short brown hair was a complete mess, but he was definitely a looker, with large expressive eyes and a narrow strong nose, and a trim body. Glancing at Turlough, she saw his scandalized look and decided to embarrass him further. "Tall and slim. Bit of a fox. Do you think we could get the Doctor to take on another person? It's been so lonely in the TARDIS since Nyssa left."

Turlough sputtered. "You... What? Tegan..."

She couldn't keep a straight face. Pointing at him, she doubled over in laughter. "Look at you! You're all red! Your ears!"

Turlough scowled. "Tegan, you...! I don't believe..."

He was interrupted by an unfamiliar voice. "Tegan! Turlough! So good to see you! It's been forever!"

They both turned to see the man in the suit approaching, a broad smile on his face and his hands jammed in his trouser pockets. Neither Tegan nor Turlough had any idea who the man was, and they both unconsciously took a step back. Turlough was the first to find his tongue. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I know you."

"Of course you do! Look at you! Same as ever!" He grabbed Turlough's hand and shook it, then turned to Tegan to give her a hug, but she ducked and slipped away from him, retreating behind her friend.

"No, we don't! Who are you?" she challenged him. She was mentally cataloguing all of the adventures she'd had with the Doctor and Turlough, to figure out where this man fit in, but could not remember him at all.

"Sure you do, Tegan. You'll figure it out. Brave heart." He stepped back and surveyed the crowd. "So, where am I? You haven't seen me around here recently, have you?"

That was enough for Tegan. She slapped her hand to her mouth. "Oh! You're the Doctor!"

Grinning, the Doctor touched his finger to the tip of his nose, then pointed at her, then continued scanning the bazaar.

Turlough stared at both of them in turn. "What? Who's the Doctor?"

Tegan was still gaping at the man in the suit. "He is! He's the Doctor with a different face. He's..." Her eyes snapped to Turlough. "Oh bloody hell! I said he was..." She felt the heat of her blush sweep over her face, and she turned around to hide it.

Turlough stared at her, then at the stranger. Whatever was going on, this man was enjoying Turlough's confusion and Tegan's embarrassment, a wicked grin spread on his face. Turlough stepped forward. "Just who are you?"

"I'm the Doctor. Just not the Doctor you know. I'm from your Doctor's future. And I'm here looking for him." He stood squarely in front of Turlough, his feet planted far apart and his hands clasped behind his back. "Would you happen to know where he is exactly?"

Turlough wrestled with what he'd just been told, but he couldn't understand it. "What? How can you be...?"

From behind the new Doctor's back, a familiar voice called out. "Ah, there you two are. I hope you were able to enjoy yourselves while... Ah!" The blond Doctor in the beige and red coat and cricketing clothes was striding up, but stopped short upon seeing his pinstripe-suited self. "Oh, it's you, Doctor. A pleasure to see you again. Except... Oh, dear. Something must be terribly wrong."

"Hullo, Doctor!" The new Doctor smiled brightly. "It's always a disaster when we meet, isn't it?"

"By definition, it must be." Removing his Panama hat and holding it to his chest, he gazed at his traveling companions. Turlough was still staring at the brown-haired Doctor, a frown crinkling his brow. Tegan had recovered enough to turn back towards the Doctors, but her complexion was still bright pink. "Ah, I see you still take delight in sowing confusion. Skinny idiot," he chided warmly. His future self grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Doctor?" Turlough interjected. "Who is this?"

"Ah, Turlough. This is a future version of me. Sometime in the future, I'll change and become him. Not too soon, I hope," he stated airily.

"Oh, not for at least another ten minutes," the Doctor in the suit replied with a cheery grin.

"You change what you look like?" Turlough couldn't believe what he was hearing, but before either Doctor could reply, Tegan put a hand on his arm.

"Yes, he can. I was there when he did it the last time. He used to be taller than him," and she jerked her head at the pin-stripe Doctor, though he only looked taller because his hair stood on end, "with really curly hair and more teeth than anyone should have." Turlough stood there speechless, looking back and forth between the two Doctors.

The blond Doctor turned to the newcomer. "Well, as I said, there must be some pressing reason for you to be here."

"Right." The brunette Doctor tugged his ear. "It's a very long story, but in short, in your future, there will be a great war, between us and the Daleks. The Daleks are at Gallifrey, and the planet will fall. We've worked out a plan, to place Gallifrey in a pocket universe, but we need as many TARDISes as we can get to do it."

"Ah. That sounds like a terrible plan."

"Well. Take what we can get. There are far worse alternatives." He pulled a small translucent cube from his pocket and handed to the Doctor, who examined it before closing his hand over it.

"Right. Well, no time like the present. Isn't that the saying?" His sunny smile didn't mask the apprehension in his eyes. He turned to his companions. "This shan't take long. Enjoy the bazaar, and I'll be back before you know it." He nodded at them, then turned to his future self. "I shall see you there."

"Oh, Doctor?" Turlough called, an inscrutable look on his face.

"Yes?" both Doctors answered. They glanced at each other, then the Doctor in pinstripes coughed and stepped back. The cricket-clad Doctor turned to Turlough.

"Tegan wanted to know…"

"Hey!" she exclaimed, grabbing Turlough's arm to try to shut him up. "Don't you dare!"

"...if you'd ask him to join the crew." His exaggerated his enunciation. "She said she's lonely and he's, what'd you say? Gorgeous. That's the word. And a fox. Ow!" She had cocked him in the ribs.

The Doctor looked his future self up and down, disbelief written plainly across his face. "I'm sorry, but I can't oblige that particular request, due to the temporal anomalies it would cause, but if you wish, Tegan, you are welcome to join him."

"What?" Both the woman and the pin-striped Doctor gaped at him.

"Well, certainly. I am sure he would enjoy the pleasure of your company as much as I have, wouldn't you, Doctor?"

"What?" The Doctor's mouth formed a perfect "O" as he stared at his former self.

"I thought so." The beige Doctor smiled happily. "See, Tegan? A splendid arrangement. Of course, your room and possessions are in his TARDIS. You could accompany him immediately."

While Tegan blushed bright red, the pin-stripe Doctor rubbed the back of his head. "I don't know if that's a good idea…"

"Oh, Doctor," the younger Doctor teased, "you are such an easy mark." The older Doctor rolled his eyes and gave the younger Doctor a respectful smile. Smirking at his future self, the Doctor placed his hat on his head at a jaunty angle and held up the cube. "You must excuse me. I have an important errand to run. It has been a pleasure seeing you again, Doctor." He turned and headed off towards his TARDIS.

The remaining Doctor smiled fondly at his former companions. "It was marvelous seeing you both again. Take care of me, won't you?" He winked, then stepped towards Tegan for a hug. This time she didn't refuse.

"We always do, Doctor." A rare smile on his face, Turlough offered his hand and they shook.

The Doctor bowed, "Must be off," and, spinning on his heel, he strode off, vanishing among the crowd.


	4. For This Moment

Refugees. That's all they were now. Once a fine, burgeoning civilization of two billion people, they were caught between the two powerful alien species that descended upon their planet to wage an intergalactic war that had nothing to do with them. In the space of less than two months, they were reduced to less than two hundred thousand refugees, and, having not yet discovered science and technology, they were fleeing their devastated planet on whatever ships other planets had been able to spare. If they were lucky enough to find a new world to call home, there was no guarantee the war wouldn't follow them there.

The Doctor climbed among the ruins of what had been the planet's second largest city, careful to avoid treading on the all-too-common bodies he spied, half-buried in crushed stone. He kept to the shadows to avoid being seen: there were still occasional Dalek patrols, looking for any sentient life that they hadn't yet exterminated, but he also needed to keep out of sight of the Gallifreyan soldiers. This planet had been categorized as "lost," meaning that any life found on the surface was expected to be hostile, either Daleks or their allies, and was to be destroyed on sight, without question. No aid for survivors, no time to be wasted. The Time Lords only saw the big picture, the landscape of the Time War from orbit; they were long past caring for the people caught in the crossfire.

One thing that did give him a bit of protection was the TARDIS. That blue box, easily visible from any distance, commanded some amount of respect, and the symbol of the presence of the Doctor gave both sides pause. The Gallifreyans, considering him a dangerous and unpredictable psychopath, avoided any location where it was seen, and the Daleks luckily still stood in too much of fear of him to attack it directly. He knew that would change one day: they'd realize that, like so many other TARDISes and battle TARDISes before it, it could be destroyed. Rather easily, too; it was hundreds of years out-of-date and lacking many of the now-basic defenses.

He paused for a moment in an alcove formed from the collapse of two nearby spires and listened for any sign of his quarry. One of the survivors, now on a ship millions of miles away, told him that a group of about fifteen people were thought to be trapped near the council hall, and he'd set out to find them. It sickened him to think that he'd sunk to the point of calculating how many people were worth the risk. Fifteen was a fine number. If it had only been five, he would have instead headed to the next battlefield planet, where he could help so many more. When exactly did he start deciding how many were worth his help?

He ran a hand through his short, dark curls, trying to decide in which direction to search. He heard the creak of shifting rubble and the occasional sound of distant blaster fire, at least three miles away; the dead city was otherwise silent. He kneeled and lodged his fingers in the gravel to feel for vibrations too subtle to hear, but… nothing. Jumping up, he scanned around the ruins. Where could they be? Where could there be enough of a sturdy space for fifteen people to survive this much destruction?

A sudden screech rent the air, and the Doctor spun immediately towards it: the rhythmic groan of a materialising TARDIS, harsh and alien against the silence of the shambles of the city. A Time Lord coming here? Whatever for? The battle was long over, as the main Dalek fleet had flown off a day ago; there was no reason for one to condescend to come to the planet's surface, as clean-up was handled by Gallifreyan grunt troops. As the Doctor started to creep in the direction of the arriving TARDIS, staying carefully hidden among the crumbled walls, he pulled out his sonic screwdriver, pulsing it periodically to keep a directional bead on it. Who knew which of these lumps of stone or shattered buildings were the Time Lord's craft?

He needn't have been so careful. As he hopped over a charred pile of wood, he caught a glimpse of the top of a blue police box beyond a high wall, and came to a confused stop. He stared off towards where he thought he left his TARDIS, then fired a pulse in that direction. _Yup, the TARDIS is still there._ Then, as quietly as he could, he dashed to the wall and peered around it. It wasn't his imagination. That was his TARDIS.

A moment later, the police box door opened and a man stepped out, presumably the Doctor, a future Doctor. An incarnation with an older visage, he had tousled gray hair, short scraggly whiskers, a deeply lined face, and slightly stooped, tired shoulders. The Doctor hiding behind the wall noticed that this Doctor was at least dressed for the environment, in heavy boots and a sturdy leather coat over his waistcoat. His sonic screwdriver was tucked into a loop on the bandolier strung across his chest.

The Doctor knew something must be wrong; even if this future incarnation was hundreds or thousands of years in his future, he wouldn't risk breaking the Laws of Time by landing so close to himself unless there was a very good reason. At the very worst, the TARDIS itself would prevent the encounter. Drawing his dark green frock coat closer around himself, he stepped out from behind the wall. "Doctor," he called.

"Ah, yes. Greetings, Doctor." He had a gruff but pleasant voice, very polite, in contrast to his weathered countenance. Gazing about the area, he murmured an "Ah!" when he spotted what he was looking for. Gesturing in the direction of a narrow alley between two crumbling buildings, he called back to the younger Doctor, "This way. Come along, now. We haven't a moment to lose." Half-hopping and half-sliding down the pile of rubble his TARDIS was perched on, he beckoned once more with his hand and headed off in that direction.

Intrigued, the Doctor sprinted to catch up with him. "And where exactly are we going?"

"To the place you are looking for. Through this alley now, and then to the right. Still a bit of a hike." Emerging from the alleyway, they began trudging over the mounds of broken stone and wood.

The younger Doctor noticed that despite his age, the older Doctor was quite spry, navigating the difficult terrain at the same speed as himself. "You took the risk of meeting with me simply to guide me to these people? There must be something else on your mind."

"Absolutely. But I decided that since I must meet with you, I should take the opportunity to rectify this situation." He waved them onto a new course with one hand. "You see, you won't find the chamber for another five hours, and by that time, it will have collapsed, killing all but two of its twenty-seven occupants. This time, you will be able to get them all out safely."

The dark-haired Doctor stopped in his tracks, appalled. "You're changing our personal timeline?"

"Oh, I'm here to do far more than that," he replied without stopping.

The Doctor resumed following him. "I don't like the sound of that."

"No." With that one word, the gray-haired Doctor sounded as old and weary as he looked. "But it must be done."

"Explain yourself, Doctor."

"The Time War. I'm here to enlist your assistance in ending it."

"Then it lasts beyond my time." The young Doctor was dispirited.

"Far beyond. I started this time around with a young face."

"Might I at least hope that you're my direct successor?"

The older Doctor turned toward his younger self and bowed while he walked. "I am. Spent my life fighting in the war. It's time to end it."

The Doctor frowned. "Fighting in it?"

"Yes. This way now. Not too much more." The bearded Doctor ducked under a fallen beam into another crumbling alleyway.

"What made you decide to get involved?" As he passed under the beam, the Doctor's frown was accusatory.

"That wasn't me. That was your decision. You had the choice of what I would be, and I am what you chose."

The young Doctor stopped in his tracks, horrified. "My decision? Why would I choose to become a soldier? Oh, but of course, you can't tell me that. You've already told me too much." With both hands, he covered his face in despair.

The older Doctor grasped his former self's shoulder. "But I can. My arrival here has thrown the timestreams out of sync. You won't remember any of this. Neither will I, for that matter. Come along, it's up over here. We have quite a lot of digging to do."

The warrior Doctor led his previous self to a collapsed wooden building that, when whole, must have been two stories high. Now a small hill of broken timber, it was strewn with destroyed furnishings. They circled around it until the older Doctor stopped and pointed at a spot. "The door to the basement is about here."

"Then we'd better get to work." The Doctor pulled off his dark green coat and draped it over the nearby remnant of a wall, then joined the other Doctor in clearing the debris by hand. "So, tell me what you're not supposed to tell me." He kept his tone conversational.

The warrior Doctor grabbed chunks of wood and stone and tossed them as far away as he could. "You came to realize that this isn't just another war. You were doing great things, like this right now, saving as many people as you could from it, but it wasn't going to end with anything less than the destruction of the universe, and you knew you had to stop it."

"Becoming a soldier doesn't stop a war. That only feeds it."

"Winning the war, destroying the Daleks would have stopped it. And I fought well, I'd like to think. Though I can't say that I improved either the High Council's or the War Council's opinion of us. Even working with them, we are too unorthodox." The warrior Doctor snorted a gruff laugh. "But no, it didn't work. The Daleks are at Gallifrey and the planet is going to fall. The High Council plans to enact the Final Sanction."

The Doctor stopped tossing debris aside to stare at his other self. "The Final Sanction? Are they so desperate?"

He nodded. "They are. The war has gone far beyond madness. It is time to end it."

"The Moment. You have it, don't you?" He set his jaw, his face grim.

"Yes. I do. I've already used it. Destroyed Gallifrey, and Skaro, and countless other planets and civilizations. Ended this war in the only way I could, to save the universe."

The young Doctor frowned. "It is done? Then why are you here?"

The older Doctor wagged a finger at him. "Because that's what's going to happen, and we're going to change it. A clever boy in our future came up with a new plan, to lock Gallifrey away in an instant of time, rather than burn it."

"And change our personal history in the process. Very risky," the Doctor commented, shaking his head. He resumed clearing debris.

"The alternative is the end of the universe, by Dalek hands or by ours. We've got to try. And we need help, from all of us. We've started the calculations going, back in Totter's Lane, but the more TARDISes we have, the more likely we are to succeed. Here, catch." The older Doctor pulled a small, translucent cube from his pocket and tossed it to his younger self.

The Doctor examined the cube, then stowed it in his pocket. "I can't refuse, of course." He paused, shaking his head. "But, that I had to enter the war, that you had to spend your life fighting and killing..."

"No. That's why I'm here." The soldier Doctor leaned against a shattered post. "You see, I'm not going to remember any of this either. To me, I'll be the one who fired the Moment and destroyed the Time Lords and the Daleks and so many more, and in our future, I - three of me, as I understand it - will remember me as the one who broke the promise. I will despise me, and over three lives, I will try my hardest to forget me. But for this moment, I know that I tried to save Gallifrey."

Pushing off the post, he stepped towards his younger self. Old, weary eyes met young, troubled ones. "And for this moment, I want you to know that you'll make the right decision. You don't want to get involved in the war, but you'll do so, against your will. And though it will take hundreds of years, because you made that sacrifice, the war will end and the universe will survive."

The young Doctor stared at his older self, then wordlessly turned away and resumed digging, his countenance closed and haunted. After a few more minutes, they began calling into the spaces between the rubble, and answering cries bolstered their spirits and they worked faster, finally clearing a small hole through which a long, pale blue arm reached out to them. The dark-haired Doctor grasped the hand, noting that the talons on the three fingers were broken and worn, from trying to dig out, and he called comforting words down, telling them that they would enlarge the opening as quickly as they could. After another fifteen minutes, the first of the survivors crawled out, squinting at the bright sunlight.

The younger Doctor sprinted off to move his TARDIS to the area, to provide a haven for the survivors and medical facilities for the wounded, while the older Doctor continued to widen the tunnel. It took an hour to get all twenty-seven people out, as many of them could not move on their own. Another hour saw them fed and tended to, and ready for their brief journey to the refugee fleet.

The young Doctor stood outside his police box, leaning against the door. He smiled sadly at the warrior Doctor. "I suppose I won't even remember this, will I? I'll remember that all but two died in that hole."

"Indeed."

"But for now, for this moment, we've saved them all." Straightening up, the Doctor bowed, the tail of his green coat sweeping against the door. "I thank you, Doctor. For the knowledge that it will end as well as it could."

The leather-clad Doctor nodded. "I shall see you at Gallifrey, then." As his younger self slipped into his police box, he turned to climb his way back to his TARDIS.


	5. An Unexpected Quarter

Though he'd been stranded here on Earth and had hated every minute of it (or so he told himself), the Doctor had to admit to himself that driving through the English countryside in Bessie was one of his favourite activities in the universe. During his exile on this tiny planet, he had thought that maybe the freedom of the open-top yellow roadster, with the wind ripping through his curly white hair, was what appealed to him, but he found that he still enjoyed cruising amongst England's rolling hills even when he could be travelling the universe in the TARDIS. Thus, he wasn't opposed to bringing Sarah Jane back to Earth, to visit her Aunt Lavinia in Croydon, for example, any time she wanted. He'd drop her off, then find a remote county to explore, driving as far as he could. Getting lost would be the ultimate earthbound adventure, but alas, his perfect sense of direction failed him in this one way.

After hours of solitary communion with his second-favourite vehicle, the Doctor crested the last rise to spy two police boxes standing side-by-side, and he brought the antique car to a gentle stop. Since the second box was not of a design he'd travelled in previously, he wondered which future version of himself piloted the other. Glancing around, he spotted no other figures on the acres of farmland and he murmured to himself, "Must be inside." There was nothing else to do but knock on the door of the strange TARDIS and find out what was important enough for some version of him to break the Laws of Time by coming to visit another self.

Parking Bessie next to his own capsule, the Doctor hopped out and, dusting his olive-green velvet jacket and adjusting his frilled cuffs, walked up to the other police box and rapped the rhythm of a Gallifreyan nursery rhyme on the door. A moment later, the door creaked open to reveal the face of a man with short, messy hair, who broke into an enthusiastic, toothy grin as he identified his caller.

"Ah, Doctor!" Stepping out of the TARDIS, this Doctor was thin and lanky, his brown pinstripe suit exaggerating his long lines. He glanced over at the roadster. "And Bessie! Brilliant!" He trotted over and stroked the fender of the antique motorcar, his eyes shining.

"Greetings, Doctor." The Doctor planted his fists on his hips. "Quite a surprise to meet you here."

The new Doctor was circling Bessie, inspecting every bit of her. "I should think so. I'd aimed for Llanfairfach. Was hoping to say hello to Jo."

"You've missed by quite a bit. Jo hasn't travelled with me in quite some time."

He rubbed the back of his neck with an embarrassed grimace. "My steering hasn't improved much over the years. Perhaps I'll pop in for a visit with her soon then."

The white-haired Doctor was eyeing his future self with curiosity, concluding with a frown. "Is it so difficult to maintain dignity in appearance through regeneration?"

His pride stung, his visitor stared down at himself. "This suit is brilliant! I've never looked better!"

The Doctor puffed out his chest to emphasise his own immaculate clothing. "You certainly have." He gestured at his future self's outfit. "Early twenty-first century Earth fashion, I gather. Cotton, and oddly cut. Button up that collar, and tighten that tie! A four-in-hand knot is simply lazy. And what are those? Cloth plimsolls?"

Glancing down at his shoes with an offended frown, the Doctor responded with more animosity than his former self's taunts truly deserved. "What's wrong with them? They're high-top trainers. Very trendy! And comfortable for running." The Doctor sniffed, his nose wrinkling. "Besides, I've been much worse. Have you ever considered question marks as a fashion statement? You'll wear them for four incarnations." Striding off a few paces, he spun around, surveying the countryside. "I remember this! Yorkshire, north of... Helmsley, isn't it? Sarah must be visiting her aunt."

"Indeed she is."

"And you're taking the time to wander with Bessie." He shook a finger at his younger self. "Take advantage of it. We never make time to just enjoy ourselves, and we really should."

"Come now, Doctor," he replied with a hint of amusement in his eyes. "You didn't come here just to tell me to take more long drives in the countryside."

"Could be." The pinstriped Doctor winked. "We really should learn to relax now and again."

"That would be more up to you than me. Unless you're truly trying to change your own past."

"Oh, no. I wouldn't change a moment of it. Well..." he drawled as he reconsidered his phrasing, "maybe a tiny Moment. Well, perhaps one great big one..."

The Doctor's speech faltered as a soft, rhythmic screeching erupted nearby, crescendoing as a ramshackle wooden hut materialised on the grass by the dirt road. After the familiar _clunk_ of landing, the weathered door opened and out stepped a handsome man, his black hair streaked with white at the temples and his goatee neatly trimmed. His black suit was immaculate and closely tailored to his form, and sleek leather gloves covered his hands. Taking a moment to secure the door of his TARDIS, he nodded at each man. "Doctor. Doctor."

The white-haired Doctor sighed. "Master. I wondered when you might arrive."

"The signature of your TARDIS twice on this lonely English hill? I couldn't resist." The Master eyed the brown-haired Doctor up and down. "Trying to recapture your youth and innocence, Doctor?"

"Oi!"

"And I see your sense of fashion hasn't improved," the Master continued without skipping a beat.

The Doctor's jaw dropped, and he spun in place, his eyes to the heavens. "What is wrong with the way I dress?" He stopped and jammed his hands in his pockets. "I was going to say it was splendid seeing you again, Master, but I've changed my mind."

The Master smirked. "I couldn't say the same for you." His eyes flicked between the two Doctors before settling again on the unfamiliar figure. "You're not here for a good reason. Even after years of mistreatment by the High Council, the good Doctor wouldn't defy them and break the Laws of Time like this."

"It's no concern of yours." The velvet Doctor's tone was short and dismissive.

The Master ignored him and regarded the other Doctor with a supercilious air. "What are you here for? Hmm?"

The white-haired Doctor inhaled to launch an invective at his rival, but the brown-haired Doctor held his hand up to forestall his retort. "No need. This isn't a secret, and the timelines are out of sync, so he won't remember this once we've gone."

The Master crossed his arms with an air of suspicion. "You've not come for tea and a bit of a natter, then."

"Of course not. I've come here for help."

Shooting a glare at the Master before turning to his future self, the Doctor in the smoking jacket set his fists on his hips. "And what trouble have we gotten ourselves into now? Or are we doing the Time Lords' dirty work again?"

"Neither. Or both, depending on how you look at it." The pinstripe Doctor stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets and glanced at the Master for a brief moment explaining the situation. "The universe is burning, Doctor. The Last Great Time War, against the Daleks, and we're losing -"

"Losing?" The Master's brow furrowed in disbelief. "To the Daleks? How is that even possible?"

"Believe me, it is. I spent centuries fighting in it, across hundreds of worlds, and the Daleks are seemingly endless." The Doctor shook his head slowly, then rubbed the back of his neck. "The High Council is desperate. They plan to enact the Final Sanction. They'll destroy the time vortex and ascend to become beings of consciousness at the cost of the universe."

The other Doctor gasped, his eyes wide. "They wouldn't." He turned to gaze at the English countryside, trying to imagine all of it and the rest of the universe destroyed, sacrificed to the ambition of the Time Lords.

"And we won't survive it." The Master gazed at both Doctors, his eyes blazing. "Our people love neither of us enough to include us in their transcendence." His companions nodded in agreement.

"We've really only got one hope," continued the older Doctor, "to lock Gallifrey away in a pocket universe; the alternative is to destroy it and Skaro both. The TARDIS has been doing the calculations needed to do this." He turned to his younger self. "We need you to join us, all of us, to put this plan into action." He held up a small translucent cube, which the younger Doctor took from him and deposited in his pocket without looking at it.

"Of course." He tugged at his cuffs. "I'll be there. I'll do my part."

"And I." The Master stepped forward and held out a hand to the Doctor, silently requesting a cube.

"You?" The silver-haired Doctor frowned as the brunette Doctor puffed out a "What?"

The Master continued to hold his hand out. "Why should that surprise you? I have a TARDIS. I can assist."

Eyes narrowed, the pin-striped Doctor stepped around the Master and peered at him, suspicious. "What's your angle?"

The man in black retracted his hand and made a show of pulling his gloves on tighter. "The same as yours. To save Gallifrey."

The velvet Doctor snorted. "You mean, to save yourself."

Unperturbed, the Master gazed back at him with an air of utter reason. "In this particular situation, the two purposes go hand-in-hand."

The Doctor crossed his arms. "He's trying to interfere. Throw a spanner into the plan."

"I agree." The Doctor in pinstripes stepped back, then whirled around to stand next to his younger self.

The Master seemed genuinely surprised, his eyes flicking between the two Doctors. "Why would I do such a thing? It would only result in my death."

The pinstripe Doctor nodded as he tapped his chin. "That's true. Survival has always been one of his main motivations, hasn't it, Doctor?"

"You forget that you've had a bit more experience with him than I have." He kept a close watch on his adversary.

"True. But his other constant has been his need to foil everything we try to do."

The Master threw his hands up in frustration. "Gallifrey is my home, too, you might remember. Why won't either of you believe me that I want to help?"

"Because the word 'help' has never been a frequent component of your vocabulary, except to help yourself." The Doctor in velvet eyed the Master up and down. "Would you pass up the chance to destroy the entire universe? Especially when your own sabotage would be its downfall?"

The Master smiled in haughty amusement. "You mistake my intentions, Doctor. If the universe were destroyed, there would be nothing for me to rule."

The pinstriped Doctor smirked. "He's got a point. But!" He jammed his hands in his pocket and wandered a casual circle around the Master. "There's precedence for our scepticism. You've offered to help us before, and we turned you down then, multiple times. And we were right: you betrayed us in the end. Luckily, the Brigadier has a mean right hook."

"Lethbridge-Stewart knocked him out?" When the other Doctor grinned, his tongue peeking out between his teeth, the Doctor nodded with approval. "I wish I could tell him that. He would appreciate knowing that he will have both the opportunity and the satisfaction of a job well done."

Ignoring the two Doctors' delight as his expense, the Master regarded the lanky Doctor with an air of unconcern. "An event must precede another to be considered a precedent. Be that as it will be some day, I am sincere in my offer now."

Suddenly serious, the Doctor nodded. "I know you are." He stuffed his hand in his trouser pocket and pulled out a cube, holding it out to the Master, who took it with one gloved hand. "The coordinates are on that."

The other Doctor's brow furrowed. "Are you sure about this?"

"Oh, yes. As you said, I've a bit more experience with him." He then spun to face the Master and wagged a finger at him. "Oh, and it isn't a promise. The war is time-locked and something has been letting us through to do this. I don't know if whatever it is will let you through, too."

Rolling his eyes, the Master sneered. "Do you ever stop dancing around like a hyperactive child?"

His mockery was met by an impish grin. "Oh, I only get worse with age."

The Master snorted a laugh, then nodded. "Understood. I'll be there, if I can."

The pinstripe Doctor cleared his throat before continuing. "Thank you, Master. The more TARDISes we have, the more likely we'll succeed. We'll hopefully have twelve, but a thirteenth will be a big help."

Nodding a farewell, the Master stepped toward his TARDIS, then, pausing, turned back. "Doctor? May I ask you a question? Since I won't remember this anyway."

"Yup."

"You said you fought in the war, for hundreds of years." He rubbed the crystal with his thumb. "Where was I during all of that?"

The Doctor replied immediately, perhaps a little too fast. "You fought, too, longer than I did. The Time Lords called you back. They thought that given your...talents" - he emphasised the euphemism - "you would make the perfect warrior. And they were right. There were few Time Lords as effective as you."

The corner of the Master's mouth curved in a smug smile. "I had thought as much." His eyes flicked to the other Doctor. "You see, there are things that I will fight for, other than myself." He spun with a flourish and walked to his TARDIS.

The white-haired Doctor waited until the Master's TARDIS had dematerialised completely before addressing his future self. "There's something you didn't say."

"There's always something we don't say, isn't there?" The Doctor stared at the spot where the little hut had stood a half a minute before. "He fled. He ran away, hid himself at the end of the universe. That's where I found him again, by chance." He wagged a finger at his former self. "But he did fight, for hundreds of years. The High Council offered limitless regeneration cycles, and the Master ran through lives like water. A soldier is truly terrifying when he doesn't care about his own death. And he was loyal until the end, until it became obvious we were going to lose."

He sniffed, pursing his lips for a moment. "But that's how I know we can trust him now. We'll battle him for all of our lives, and we'll never see eye-to-eye, but I know that he's willing to fight for Gallifrey. I just don't know if he'll be able to join us there."

"Well, we shall see." He nodded at the Doctor in pinstripes. "I, er, can't say this was a pleasure, Doctor, but it was certainly interesting. I shall see you there."

"Yup-ah." The Doctor spun on his heel as his former self disappeared into his TARDIS. "One more to call," he murmured to himself, "for me, anyway, and then it's time."


	6. Spoiling the Broth

**Author's Note**: This is an unofficial, alternate story for this series. I got the idea in my head to do this and though it's not really what I wanted to do in this series, I just had to write it.

* * *

><p>A few moments after the police box solidified and its metallic screech silenced, its wooden door creaked open and a thin man with ruffled chestnut hair in a brown pinstripe suit strode out. Jerking to a halt, he glanced around at the bare gray walls around him, then frowned in confusion. Tugging at his ear, he stepped back into the box and closed the door. A moment later, it began to emit the same cyclic screech, which decrescendoed as the box faded from view. In another few seconds, the box reappeared, and again, after the groaning silenced, the man stepped out of the door. This time, he closed it behind him, and, jamming his hands in the pockets of his trousers, he circled around the police box, verifying that he was indeed in a gray room, featureless except for a single door, almost invisible except for its shiny silver doorknob.<p>

Running his hands through his hair, he sidled back to the box and stroked the wooden door jamb, his head bent as if he was listening to the blue paneling. "Why'd you bring me here? This isn't any part of headquarters I've ever seen. And the time... it's all a mess in my head. I can't tell when we are. What's wrong, old girl?" After a few moments of staring with unfocused eyes, he sniffed. "Well, you're not letting on. I suppose I'll have to figure it out for myself." Flashing an eager grin with the tip of his tongue pressed just behind his teeth, he spun toward the room's lone door, when the metallic groaning filled the air yet again. A second police box, its panelling scarred and scuffed, appeared next to the first. As it materialised, the man leaned against his own box, crossing his arms and adopting a stance of studied nonchalance.

The door of the newly-arrived police box opened presently and small, older man with a gray, grizzled beard and wearing a worn leather jacket strode out. His piercing gaze snapped to the taller man, and he frowned. "What are you doing here, Doctor?"

"My assigned task, Doctor."

"I know I'm getting on, but I'm sure this one was mine." He glanced around, then turned in place, his eyes flicking around in confusion. "Wait. Where are we?"

"That's what I'd like to know. I was trying to land at UNIT headquarters in, well, some appropriate year. The seventies? The eighties? You know. Hoping to catch the Brigadier as well as me." He patted the box behind his back. "Tried to land there twice, but she brought me here both times."

"Not at all where I was going. I was trying for Telos." He turned back toward his TARDIS and patted the doorframe. "What's wrong, old girl?"

Smirking, the taller Doctor pushed off his box and wandered over to the wall. He ran a hand over its perfectly smooth surface, then, sniffing it once, licked it. One eyebrow arched as his brow furrowed. "No..."

Cocking his head, the older-looking Doctor narrowed his eyes at his future self. "What is it?"

He replied while continuing to inspect the wall, his nose an inch from it. "The construction. Complex bioinorganics. Polymeric chelating ligands linking multimetallic macromolecules. Synthetic isotopes found only in one place in the universe. We're in a TARDIS."

The Doctor in leather raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Why are these things never simple?" he groaned. Shaking his head, he pulled his sonic screwdriver from his bandolier as he strolled over to the other man. "The murmurs of our two ladies are making it hard to hear anything else," He scanned the wall with the tool, then snorted. "Inconclusive. Whose do you think this is?"

"No idea." As his companion tucked the screwdriver back into his bandolier, he added, "I need to get me one of those." Gazing down at his own chest, he patted himself where a bandolier might hang on him.

"Whoever it is, he won't be happy to see us."

The pinstripe Doctor mimed drawing his screwdriver from the imaginary bandolier like a dagger, then mumbled, "Maybe not." Ignoring the disgusted expression from his predecessor, he straightened and clasped his hands behind his back. "He doesn't have to. We can be gone in a moment. Never has to know."

"Agreed. Let's go before he finds us." The two Doctors nodded in agreement on this plan, then, as one, turned towards the nearly invisible door. The taller one grasped the doorknob and pulled the door open, bowing deep with exaggerated gallantry to indicate that his predecessor should precede him.

The bearded Doctor stepped into a clean, almost sterile white corridor lit by an endless array of glowing white roundels in the walls. He glanced both ways down the otherwise featureless hallway as his companion came up next to him. "Pretty standard theme. No way to tell which way to go. Or how to get back. Got any breadcrumbs?"

The taller Doctor pulled a small ball of twine from his pocket and grunted. "Never did replace this. Let's see." Feeling around in his pockets a bit more, his face lit up as he found something, but immediately fell into disappointment. "Oh, no! I was almost done!" Grimacing, he produced a nearly-finished sock on double-pointed needles trailing a large ball of red fingering yarn.

"A sock?" The Doctor frowned at the unfinished craft. "Still carrying knitting?"

"Ever since the last time we wanted some." He rubbed the sock along his cheek. "Milthesian llama wool. Softest and warmest in the galaxy. Need good socks when you're running all the time." He sniffed, pursing his lips. "Still, can't be helped." Sighing, he pulled the needles out and, stuffing them back in his pocket, began unravelling the sock.

"Not the first time."

"No, but at least that time, we were done with the scarf." After a minute of pulling the yarn, the former sock was now a heap of jumbled curls on the floor. The Doctor handed the ball to his former self, then, tying a slip knot, secured the free end of the yarn to the doorknob. He then scooped up the pile. "Which way?"

"Doesn't matter." The gray-haired Doctor stepped off in one direction, the other following him while feeding the yarn loosely behind him.

Tacitly agreeing to stay with the corridor they started on, the Doctors walked on. Though it had numerous intersections, stairs, and ladders, the hallway continued straight, with no change in decor, no landmarks. Every so often, the warrior Doctor stopped to check behind a door, pulling out a marker to scribble its contents on the wall beside it. As they traveled, their crossed their path line a few times, and once, they could see it strung past the foot of a ladder as they peered down the hole. When the pile of loose yarn ran out, the soldier began unwinding the ball. They came to an intersection as the ball dwindled to three centimetres across, and the warrior grunted.

"We're almost out. Got the other member of the pair?"

The taller Doctor sniffed. "Nope-ah. Backtrack. We can save up the yarn from crossing our path." He stared back down the corridor, then glanced down the cross hallways. "Wait. Isn't that...? Yes! It is! Console room door!" As he dashed to it, the other Doctor secured the free end of the yarn to the wall to a nearby doorknob. "Yes! This is it!"

Striding down to his future self, the Doctor placed a hand on the door. "Might as well get this over with. See who we're dealing with." He nodded, then pushed the door a crack open. Both Doctors put an eye to the opening, and the warrior grunted.

"Oh, for gods' sake!"

. _ . _ . _ . _ .

Striding into the TARDIS, the Doctor pulled a lever on the console to close the door behind Jo and Sergeant Benton. As the UNIT soldier, a machine gun slung over his shoulder, gazed around the chamber, stunned confusion plain on his face, the Time Lord fiddled with a few other controls. "Right. Force field on."

Jo hurried to the Doctor's side and glared at him. "You were going off without me, weren't you?"

The Doctor ignored her as he studied the console, his brow furrowed under his halo of curly white hair. "Well, Sergeant, aren't you going to say that it's bigger on the inside than it is on the outside? Everybody else does."

Benton pulled his cap off as he stared, bunching it up in his hand. He gave a slight noncommittal shrug. "It's pretty obvious, isn't it? Anyway, nothing to do with you surprises me anymore, Doctor."

The Doctor replied with an absentminded air. "Oh, thank you for the compliment." Pulling a lever, he frowned as the time rotor emitted a dull _thud_. He pulled the lever again, then a third time, receiving an answering _thud_ for each flip. "It's not reacting." He paused for a moment, thinking, then set his jaw. "There's only one thing for it. I'll have to send an SOS. I hate having to call them, but, there we are." Moving past Jo, he flipped a cover up and threw the switch hidden beneath it, then strode around the console to stop in front of the scanner.

Jo hovered by his side. "What were you planning to do, anyhow?"

"I was planning to lure that stuff away from the Earth, Jo, but now as it seems to have immobilised the TARDIS, I'm not going anywhere." He glanced at the monitor, which showed the red globular creatures rampaging through the UNIT base. "We're trapped."

"So what are we going to do?"

The Doctor gestured at the monitor. "At least we can watch that thing in comfort, and then we can send in a report and see what they have to say about it."

Benton came up behind Jo. "Who are they?"

"The Time Lords," Jo breathed. "Oh, things are pretty serious." She hugged her light blue faux-fur coat closer around herself.

"Yes. They are." Frowning, the Doctor continued to stare at the control panel. Next to the emergency beacon switch, a red light began flashing.

"Do you think they will send help soon?" Wringing her hands, Jo peered up at the Doctor.

"There's really no telling what might happen. I am sure that once they get the message, they'll have to call a meeting to decide if anything should be done, and if so, what." Sweeping his red velvet coat back, the Doctor set his fists on his hips as he watched the monitor. "The problem with living a very long time is that nothing is ever urgent."

A metallic grinding, much like the groaning of the time rotor, echoed through the chamber for a moment. "That's odd." The Doctor quickly glanced around, then stared at Jo and Benton. "Nobody touched anything, did they?"

"No," they answered together.

"But you heard it though, didn't you?" the Doctor demanded as he stepped back to the controls.

Benton strode to the doors to check them and then began circling the room as Jo replied, "Yes, and felt it, too. Could it be that stuff outside?"

The Doctor shook his head as he verified the integrity of the control panel. "No, I don't think so. Hello, what's this?" He picked up a blue-striped soprano recorder which hadn't been on the panel a moment ago and turned it over in his hands. "It seems strangely familiar. Is it yours, Jo?"

Noticing the other door out of the chamber was slightly ajar, the sergeant frowned. He readied his gun and walked over to check it out. "Doctor?"

Jo stared perplexed at the instrument in the Doctor's hands. "A flute? No."

"Well," the Doctor replied, "properly speaking, it's a recorder."

"Doctor?" Benton called over his shoulder.

A small man with ragged dark hair and baggy clothing appeared out of thin air and plucked the recorder out of the Doctor's hands. "Thank you. I was wondering where that had got to." He played a few notes on it before continuing. "You haven't been trying to play this have you?" He looked around. "Oh. I can see you've been doing the TARDIS up a bit. Hmm." He sneered. "I don't like it." The images on the scanner caught his eye. "Oh my word." He began twisting knobs on the console.

"Doctor!" Benton called, finally breaking the Doctor out of his stunned surprise. He scowled at the stranger, but before he could reply, the unknown man grinned and called out.

"Now, don't tell me. Corporal Benton, isn't it?'

Benton's pleasure of recognition was tainted by his concern for doing his job. "Sergeant Benton now." He nodded his head toward the stripes on his arm while training his gun on the door.

The man grinned, pleased. "How do you do, my dear fellow?"

"Nice to see you," the soldier replied as a reflex.

Throwing the stranger a dirty look, the Doctor cut in, very testily. "Yes, yes. That's all out of the way now. What is it, Sergeant?"

"There are two other men in here, did you know?" He strode over and pulled the hallway door open, revealing a tall, brown-haired, lanky young man in a mod pinstripe suit and a shorter gray-haired, grizzled old man in worn leathers. Shrugging, the taller one pursed his lips and remarked to his companion, "We never were the best at covert operations."

"Speak for yourself," the other man shot back. "You'd stand out anywhere, in that ridiculous getup."

"What is wrong with the way I dress?" the tall man squeaked.

Benton motioned with the tip of his gun. "Come on. Out here."

"Oi!" the taller one exclaimed. "Put that away, Benton. No need for that." He emerged from the hallway, the other man following him.

The soldier moved behind them. "Keep quiet, you!"

"Doctor!" Jo scurried around the TARDIS console to get a better look at the two new strangers. "Who are all these people and how did they get in here?"

The man in pinstripes smirked. "There's only one person here, Doctor, and that's you."

His companion looked daggers at him. "You can't ever give a straight answer, can you?"

The Doctor's eyes narrowed. His eyes flicked from the two strangers to the man with the recorder, and realisation dawned. He cleared his throat. "Well, it's bit difficult to explain, Jo."

"They're not them, are they?"

The Doctor grimaced with apprehension. "Well, not so much them as us. They're me, to be precise."

As the man with the recorder stepped forward and inhaled to protest, the man in leather cut in. "No, no, no! You're not going to do it like that and confuse the poor girl." He turned towards Jo and held her gaze as he spoke. "Jo, we are all the Doctor. He -" and he indicated the small dark-haired man with a glance, "- is from your Doctor's past. We -" and he waved his thumb at himself and the tall man next to him, "- are from your Doctor's future. But we are all the same man."

Jo stared at gray-haired man for a few seconds, then at each of the Doctors in turn, ending on the one she knew best. "Are they really you?"

"Yes, yes, I'm afraid so."

Stepping forward, Benton placed a hand on Jo's shoulder and she turned to him. "I think they are, Miss Grant. I don't know about these two, but you see, when the Brig and I first met the Doctor, he looked like him."

Jo looked around at the four Doctors, then shook her head in confusion. "How?"

"Yes," the white-haired Doctor cut in, "that's what I'd like to know. You've got no right to be here."

The black-haired Doctor gripped his recorder in one fist. "Perhaps."

The Doctor frowned. "What about the First Law of Time?"

The Doctor in pinstripes stepped forward, a friendly smile on his face. "Perhaps I could explain?" He glanced at Benton. "And could you put that down, Benton? I really don't like guns." The sergeant glanced at his gun and slung it over his shoulder with sheepish grin.

Scowling at his future self, the white-haired Doctor turned back to his predecessor. "Perhaps _you_ could." His face screwing into a petulant pout, the pinstripe Doctor retreated behind the Doctor in leather. Ignoring him, the Doctor continued. "And concisely, please, if you could dispense with your usual rambling this one time."

The youngest Doctor scowled at him. "Rambling? You're the one who's been doing all the talking."

"Actually, it's been him." He jerked a thumb at the pinstripe Doctor.

"What?" Taken aback, the Doctor rocked back on his heels. "I've hardly said a word!"

"Well, you _do_ have a gob," the leather-clad Doctor remarked.

"Keep your opinions to yourself, Granddad."

The white-haired Doctor raised his voice. "If you could explain with expediency..."

"Only if you stop casting aspersions about my character." Putting his recorder to his lips, the Doctor started playing a melody.

Squeezing his eyes shut, his successor pinched the bridge of his nose. "Must you?"

Halting his song, Doctor huffed, pursing his lips. "Are we going to take this attitude to my music all the time?"

The gray-haired Doctor growled out a "Yes!" as the Doctor in velvet replied, "Yes, I'm rather afraid we are."

"DOCTOR!" yelled Jo as she stamped her foot, fists clenched.

All four men whirled on her, and her Doctor rolled his eyes. "Yes, Jo, you are quite right." With a gallant nod to his predecessor, he coaxed him, "Please, do explain."

The black-haired Doctor nodded in kind before speaking. "Well, our fellow Time Lords out there are just as much under siege as we are."

"What?"

"And they couldn't send anyone to help you. But they did summon up enough temporal energy to lift me out of my bit of our timestream and pop me down here, into my own future, so to speak. However -" and he held up a hand to keep his successor from speaking, "- I do _not_ know why these two are here. The Time Lords told me nothing about summoning help from our future."

"Well, you see," the bearded Doctor broke in, "that is because we didn't come from the Time Lords. We're here on quite different business."

Plunging his hands into his trouser pockets, the Doctor standing behind him circled around. "That's what I was trying to tell you. We've the destruction of Gallifrey to stop. Omega can wait."

The two younger Doctors frowned. "Omega?" the white-haired Doctor queried. "_The_ Omega? Preposterous!"

"Oh." The Doctor ran a hand through his already-ruffled hair. "I suppose I shouldn't have said that."

The gray-haired Doctor rolled his eyes. "No, you shouldn't have. Doesn't matter. They won't remember anyway."

"Doctor?" Jo tugged on her Doctor's velvet sleeve. "What are they talking about? Who is Omega?"

"A man from Gallifrey's distant past." He squared himself in front of the pinstripe Doctor, his fists on his hips. "I think perhaps you ought to put us in the picture."

"Right."

All four Doctors closed their eyes.

"Contact."

"Contact."

"Contact."

"Contact."

After quite a few seconds, they each opened their eyes. Tapping his chest with his recorder, the Doctor sighed. "Disturbing. Yes, quite disturbing. I hadn't wanted to know that."

"No." The Doctor in leather shook his head, his eyes sad and weary. "You'll forget it soon enough, when it's all over and we've gone."

"That's a mercy."

Stepping over next to Jo, Benton leaned in toward her. "Now what was that about?"

The girl seemed just as lost. "A sort of telepathic conference, I think. Doctor," she called. "What is going on?"

"Jo." Coming over to stand in front of her, the Doctor took her hand in his. "These gentlemen have come from my future to ask for both of our assistance." His eyes flicked to his predecessor to indicate him. "It is a dire emergency, and we must be off soon."

"But what about the monsters outside?"

The brown-haired Doctor stepped up to next to them. "It's hard to explain. Time is complicated. Right now, it's mixed up, confused. We need help, and after it's all done, your Doctor will return, with him" - he waved a hand at the Doctor with the recorder - "and time will straighten out. You won't even remember that we've been here or that he'd been gone. And then they'll deal with the monsters outside."

Jo gaped at him for a moment, then set her hands on her hips. "That's utter nonsense." With a worried frown, she turned to her Doctor. "Are these men really you?"

"I'm afraid so, Jo. And what he says is true." Still holding her hand, the Doctor clasped it in both of his. "Trust me, Jo." Staring him in the eyes, she blinked and her worry melted from her face. She nodded. "Thank you. Now. I can't let you back out there, so what I need for you to do is to go with Sergeant Benton and retire to the library. You'll be safe there. Stay there until I come for you." He glanced up at the soldier, who nodded.

"Come along, Miss Grant." Benton offered her his arm, which she took, and together, they walked out of the console room, Jo glancing back at the Doctor as she left.

Pulling his specs out of his pocket and putting them on, the pinstripe Doctor turned to watch the scanner. "Dear old Lethbridge-Stewart. Still blazing away as usual."

"He is doing what he must," the Doctor in leather replied, his voice heavy with reprimand.

"I suppose."

"And what is the plan?" The black-haired Doctor's question pulled the attention of all his selves back to the task. The two future Doctors fished translucent cubes from their pockets and handed them to the two younger Doctors.

The pinstripe Doctor waggled a finger at the cubes. "The coordinates are on those. Our oldest self will have the final calculations done when we get there and transmit them to all of us." He sniffed. "I'll warn you, though. The planet's under the heaviest Dalek attack ever, so shields up and evasive maneuvers!"

The leather-clad Doctor eyed him. "You've always wanted to say that, haven't you?"

"Yup-ah!" His grin was wide and toothy.

"Well." The white-haired Doctor set his fists on his hips. "That's simple enough. Now to solve the last problem."

"What's that?" his younger self asked.

"My TARDIS can't move away from Earth. Even if it could, something's draining the energy from it."

"Ah, that. Yes." The brown-haired Doctor held up both index fingers. "I know just how to fix that. That's the benefit of hindsight." Ducking down below the console, he removed a panel and crawled inside. "First, let's remove the lock on the controls. And I'm not telling you how that's done. Going to have to put it back after, of course. Then, considering where the - unh! - drain is coming from, it only makes sense to put up a positron shield. Just need to connect the conversion - ow! - chamber to the shield array." _Whirrrr_. "And that should do it. Doctor, will you try that out?"

As he pushed himself back out, the leather-clad Doctor stepped forward and flipped a switch on the console. The ever-present hum of the TARDIS shifted subtly, and all the Doctors smiled.

"Excellent work!" The Doctor with the recorder clapped his future self on the shoulder.

"Thank you." Beaming with pride, he pulled off his glasses and dropped them in a pocket. "But now, on to the more difficult project."

"Which is?"

"Putting you back in your own timestream." He jammed his hands in his trouser pockets. "We know where you should be, but getting you back there will require breaking through the temporal barriers. That'll take some tricky piloting. Fortunately," and his eyes shone eagerly as he spoke, "there's four of us to man the console!"

"Three of us. Maybe three and a half, if we're lucky." The velvet-clad Doctor eyed his predecessor.

The Doctor shook his recorder at him. "Now, now. There's no need to be ungracious."

"Actually, Doctor." The gray-haired Doctor wagged a finger at the one in pinstripes. "We have two TARDISes parked here. We can use one to feed artron energy to the other, and that would double its effectiveness."

"Oh, brilliant! To my TARDIS then!"

"No, to mine."

"Why yours?"

"We really don't need these two to see your messy desktop."

"What is wrong with coral? It's artistic! Organic!"

"Childish! Hipster!"

"Gentlemen. Must we fight about every single thing?"

"You expect us to take you seriously while you carry that ridiculous whistle?"

"I never expected you to appreciate the arts, you Philistine."

"Doctors!" The leather Doctor's speech was clipped and nervous. "We must be going now. You can bicker all you want on the way."

The white-haired Doctor bristled. "Surely there's plenty of time on this end of history. No need to hurry."

"Well, there are other considerations, too. I'd really like to avoid..." He caught his oldest self's eye, then cast a meaningful glance at the scanner. "No time to lose."

Staring at the scanner in confusion for a moment, the pinstripe Doctor's jaw dropped in horror, and he ran a hand through his brown mop. "Oh! Yes. Time and tide wait for no Doctor and all that. It's been lovely." He dashed to the door and held it open while the soldier Doctor ushered the other two Doctors forward, bewildered looks on their faces. They all disappeared into the corridor.

After a minute of silence, the scanner flickered on. An old-looking man sitting in a metal triangular frame, with white hair that hung just below his ears, peered out into the room. "Hello? Is anyone there? Hmm?"


	7. The Message

**Author's Note**: In case you're wondering why this story is in this collection now:

This story, "The Message", is my headcanon version of how the calculations for hiding Gallifrey got started, and this short story collection, _Calling the Doctor_, originally had a different story for that event, called "Starting the Calculations". I recently realized that they don't have to be different. So, I have added this story to _Calling the Doctor_ (with some modification, as it was poorly written the first time), then removed the part about starting the calculations from "Starting the Calculations" and renamed it as "First Call".

* * *

><p>Hunched forward, the Doctor regarded his two former selves, his immediate predecessor and the warrior, out of the corner of his eye. An idea, a wonderful, terrible idea, had occurred to him, one that could end the Time War and save them from having to do the unthinkable, genociding the Time Lords and the Daleks and destroying great swathes of the universe. But it was a dangerous idea, because it ran contrary to the laws that protected all of creation and because it might not work, possibly dooming Gallifrey to an even worse fate. The other two men knew he had thought of something and pulled their hands from the trigger of the Moment.<p>

The Doctor in pinstripes stared at him in disbelief, with a slight tinge of horror. "You're not actually suggesting that we change our own personal history?"

"We change history all the time. I'm suggesting far worse," he said, his voice quiet. His eyes unfocused as he thought about it further, working through the details to make sure it was feasible.

"What, exactly?" Glad at the chance to postpone the action he didn't want to take, the soldier was very willing to listen to any idea, no matter how preposterous.

"Gentlemen, I have had four hundred years to think about this." The Doctor made up his mind and straightened up. There was hope and determination in his voice. "I've changed my mind." Pulling out his sonic screwdriver and twirling it in his hand, he fired it at the trigger of the Moment, which retreated back into the weapon's casing. A dawning realisation appeared on his predecessor's face, and he rubbed his hand over his mouth and jaw as he turned away to think, his camel-brown coat flaring out behind him.

The warrior frowned as the Doctor put his screwdriver away. "There's still a billion billion Daleks up there, attacking."

The Doctor nodded, wagging a finger at him. "Yeah, there is. There is." Clara smiled as the oppressive atmosphere in the shack lifted. It was changing. It was all changing. She wasn't sure how, but there it was.

The pinstripe Doctor whirled back to the warrior. "But... there's something those billion billion Daleks don't know." His face now also shone with hope.

"Because if they did, they'd probably send for reinforcements," the Doctor quipped.

Clara still wasn't sure. "What? What don't they know?"

His eyes glimmered with impish glee. "This time, there's three of us."

The soldier froze. His jaw dropped as the plan formed in his mind, and he slapped his forehead with both hands. "Oh! Oh, yes, that is good. That is brilliant!" The Doctor danced around the shack.

The pinstripe Doctor's eyes widened as the plan also appeared in his mind. "Oh, oh, oh, I'm getting that, too! That is brilliant!" Whirling around, he ran toward his TARDIS and leapt, slapping high up the door jamb.

"Ha, ha, ha! I've been thinking about it for centuries!" The Doctor spun and struck a triumphant pose.

Continuing to celebrate, the warrior gestured wildly like his final successor. "She didn't just show me any old future. She showed me exactly the future I needed to see."

Perched on a haystack and unseen by the others, the Moment smiled. "Now you're getting it."

Distracted, the Doctor paused his dance and frowned. "Eh? Who did?"

Ignoring him, the warrior blew the Moment a kiss with both hands. "Oh, Bad Wolf girl, I could kiss you."

"Yeah, that's going to happen." The Moment smirked and vanished.

Stunned, the Doctor in the coat ran his hand through his hair. He stared at the warrior, his brow furrowed. "Sorry, did you just say 'Bad Wolf?'"

Not privy to the Doctors' telepathy, Clara was still lost. She turned back and forth between the men, an eager but confused grin on her face. "So what are we doing? What's the plan?"

The Doctor and the soldier gathered around her. "The Dalek fleets are surrounding Gallifrey, firing on it constantly."

Recovering from his shock, the other Doctor joined them. "The Sky Trench is holding, but what if the whole planet just disappeared?"

That wasn't enough to clear it up for Clara, and if anything, didn't make sense at all. "Tiny bit of an ask?"

"The Daleks would be firing on each other. They'd destroy themselves in their own crossfire." The pinstripe Doctor's hands mimed the firing of laser cannons at each other.

"Gallifrey would be gone, the Daleks would be destroyed, and it would look to the rest of the universe as if they'd annihilated each other." The warrior's face beamed.

"But where would Gallifrey be?" asked Clara.

"Frozen. Frozen in an instant of time, safe and hidden away." The pinstripe Doctor's eyes were brilliant, and his hand puffed open, like a cloud of steam disappearing into the spring air.

The Doctor smiled. "Exactly."

"Like a painting," whispered the warrior, and Clara smiled with pleased comprehension.

"Now," the Doctor popped up and started pacing, "we have to get the calculations going. It's going to take the TARDIS hundreds of years to do it, and the more of them we can get, the more likely this will work. How do we get the word back to me, the first me?" He hunched over and thought, tapping his temples with the fingers of both hands.

"Back to Totter's Lane, I'd say," the warrior suggested. "I was there for several months, so we're bound to hit that time frame easily. Any other time would be rather hit or miss."

The other Doctor shook his head. "No, we need to get me started as early as possible. Every moment I can give to the calculations, the more likely we'll succeed."

The Doctor straightened. "Then we start at the beginning. By using a little trick I learned..."

The two Doctors looked at him, confused, then smiled simultaneously as the telepathic plan hit them. "Brilliant!" exclaimed the pinstripe Doctor. "Where'd you learn that?"

"Spoilers!" The Doctor grinned, though he glanced away to avoid looking his predecessor in the eye.

If he noticed, he didn't let on. "Right. Meet you there." He turned and jogged into his TARDIS.

"I've a hike back to the old girl. Be there soon." The warrior bundled the Moment back into his sack and headed out of the shack, his step light.

"What is it, Doctor? What are you doing?" asked Clara.

"I'll tell you on the way."

. _ . _ . _ . _ .

Escorted by four berobed Time Lords, the boy tried his best to look stately and serious while having to skip a bit to keep up with the tall adults. All his short life, he had been training for this moment, but he was terrified. He was terrified that he would make a fool of himself. Terrified that the Time Lords would tell him that he wasn't good enough and wouldn't even let him take part in the ceremony. Terrified that he'd forget what to do. Terrified of his classmates' mockery. He wasn't terrified of the ceremony itself. Later on, his older self would reflect that he had had no real concept of what was about to happen, and thus had no idea that it was the one thing he should be terrified of.

The walk to the site had been long, or at least long enough that his terror had built to a fever pitch. When they finally stopped, within twenty feet of round metal frame, about five feet in diameter, built on the top of the hill, he breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. And again. And again. Then he clenched his fists and swallowed, trying to prevent himself from hyperventilating.

The Time Lord that had led the procession stood in front of him. "You will now close your eyes. I will lead you to the Untempered Schism. When I tell you to, you will open your eyes and gaze into the Schism. You will continue to look into it until I tell you to stop. Do you understand?"

The boy nodded and closed his eyes. He could feel his hearts pounding hard, almost painful in his chest. A large hand closed around his shoulder and pushed him gently. He stumbled his way slowly as the hand guided him, until its reverse pressure indicated that he should stop.

"Are you prepared?"

He wasn't, but he nodded his agreement anyway.

"Open your eyes."

His vision was filled with the unbridled power of the time vortex, churning and writhing. There was nothing else: he was no longer standing on ground, or breathing, or feeling his hearts pound. He didn't have a physical body. He was enveloped in - no, he was the time vortex. He could see all of time - past, present, future - with all of its infinite possibilities. He could feel his mind rebelling, telling him to close his eyes and run away. And it was yearning to learn more, to explore time and the universe. And it was collapsing, under the weight of the incredible wonder before him. One moment, he couldn't bear it, and the next he wanted it to never stop.

What was out there for him? He willed himself to push out into the vortex, to search for all of the possible futures and see himself in them. There were planets and galaxies and nebulae, civilizations and faces of people of all species, all speeding by him too quickly to remember, and all suffused with the deepest, most comforting blue. And then he saw Gallifrey. His home, and yet not his home. But this time, it was burning, from a war bigger than he could imagine. And in this war, amid the fires and the ruined buildings and the piled corpses, stood a man, his hands, dripping in blood, poised over the trigger of a terrible weapon. He saw only his back but he knew who he was: someone he didn't want to become. Tears stung his cheeks - he suddenly remembered that he really was just flesh and blood - and he wanted to run away, to never see this man again.

At that moment, the man turned and looked at him. In his eyes, the boy saw hope. The man spoke three words, in a slow, raspy voice. "Make the promise."

"Stop."

A hood dropped over the boy's face and his connection to the Untempered Schism was broken. The hand turned him around, then removed the hood.

"Are you all right?"

Sobbing, the boy wiped the tears from his eyes and nodded.

. _ . _ . _ . _ .

"Oh, Grandfather, this is the most beautiful ship!" Susan ran around the console, gazing at the controls and smiling happily.

"That it is, Susan. Now, let us get going, shall we?" The old man began flipping switches and turning knobs. The time rotor started to pump, making a groaning, whining noise as it worked. "There. We have left Gallifrey now."

"This is so exciting! Seeing the universe! But first, we should look through the rooms here. I should dearly love to have my own bedroom."

"So you shall, Susan. But you go on ahead. I have something I must do right away."

Susan stopped, concerned. "What is it, Grandfather?"

He paused before answering. "I made a promise, a long time ago, and I am keeping it now. Go on. It doesn't concern you."

Susan leaned over to kiss her grandfather, then ran off into the TARDIS interior.

The old man punched buttons on the console, entering the data, coordinates, and times he saw a long time ago, in the eyes of a man he would run from all his life. As he did so, he whispered to himself, "Never cruel or cowardly. Never give up. Never give in."

Finishing the entry, the Doctor nodded. "The calculations have begun."


End file.
